Love.

Is the tempo to time.

Never ran so fast,

or slept 

the sleep,

That didn’t last. 

 

I guess the butterflies untiled the riverbeds of the clock

Less rocks, to get lost.

 

All cause of love.

 

Deers were born calm, quiet, strong, considerate

scorpions born, simply, fall, in, love. 

 

The reflection of the waters accentuating

perfect edges,

clear veins,

thick skin,

 

so I fell in. 

 

Sorry I washed the water away in paint,

drenched the liquid in my shades,

crippled the clear canvas,

Too lovely and too dreamy,

to be true,

to accept the fact,

that the one i drew

wasn’t

you.